Page 59 of Ridin’ Dirty

He was right. I could have listed a number of reasons why he hadn’t earned my compassion, but I wasn’t cold hearted.

“Didn’t have to protect me back there, either.”

This time, rather than a hint of humbleness, I sensed his pride was back and aimed directly at me. I narrowed my eyes at him in annoyance.

“Yeah, well, no one else was doing anything to help. Couldn’t make that make sense.”

“We were in their house. Outnumbered and outgunned. One wrong move, and all of us might not have made it out of there.”

While I hadn’t seen any guns, I understood that was his point. Nighthawk’s intent was obviously to keep the peace—however marginal it was.

“Even more reason for me to step in. Someone had to before you got a broken jaw.”

“Didn’t have to be you.”

“Okay,” I scoffed, now full-on irritated. “I’ll remember that the next time you’re getting your ass kicked.”

He shook his head slightly, his calm, steady gaze never wavering from mine.

“No. I mean, you didn’t have to put yourself in harm’s way for me. He could have thrown a fist at you.”

“Oh,” I breathed, instantly deflated.

I replayed the last sixty seconds, studying his face all the while. As I realized it wasn’t his pride speaking but something else, I dropped my hand away from his face and lifted the ice so I could look at him. Really look at him.

Even with his left eye now almost swollen shut, I could see he was still looking at me like he did back at the clubhouse. It wasn’t gratitude or surprise. It wasn’t lust or curiosity. It was more subtle than that. It was almost like wonder—like, for the first time in days, he was seeing me.

Not as an unforeseen problem or an inconvenience.

Not as a consequence or a burden.

Instead, he was looking at me.

Just me—the woman who offered herself as his human shield.

My heart did something like a double tap, caught off guard by the moment.

“I—I knew he wouldn’t hit me,” I admitted, pressing the ice against his face again. “Not even on accident.”

“How?”

“He can be a dick, but my brother has never laid a hand on me.”

Pistol furrowed his brow, and I saw it as he connected the dots in his mind. “Carmy. You called him Carmy.”

“Yup. He’s Hotshot to his brothers, but not to me.”

He hummed in acknowledgement.

“What’s the story there?”

“Nothing too original. Had a falling out a few years back.”

Pistol quirked an eyebrow.

“You want my ass to stay in this chair with this ice on my face, you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

I laughed, surprised by the sound as much as his ability to get it out of me.